


Lullaby

by JenniferJF



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferJF/pseuds/JenniferJF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a series of ficlettes, now. Spoilers through The Wedding of River Song.  Based on the fact that there was more than one cage he knew he would find her in. Latest Chapter: Some patterns have been repeating far longer than River even remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She awoke with a jolt of panic. She felt like she'd been asleep forever. Actually... rested. Her eyes flew open, seeking and instantly finding the cot set next to her bed. The  _empty_ cot.

Only other senses were faster. She felt the two of them across the room even as her eyes followed the low murmur of his singing to where he sat rocking in front of the window. The blanket-draped form of their newborn son curled against his chest, the child's soft downy head tucked beneath his father's chin. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated them both in it's stark white glow.

She smiled. Hopefully, the poor little thing had been spared the dissertation length explanation of the true origin of that song she'd been subjected to. He'd meant to show how poor a tool archeology was compared to actual experience but ended in proving that truth is generally far less interesting than nearly anything else.

In her opinion.

Whatever it had originally meant, though, the lullaby did seem to be doing its job. The rhythmic rise and fall of the infant's back grew ever slower as he drifted closer to sleep.

Then the song changed, shifting from the old English lyrics of Rock-a-bye Baby into words which retained their original forms even to her ears. Words which could be understood by no one but the man singing them, she herself, and one day, hopefully, by the child lying in his arms.

And the song was beautiful. The most beautiful thing she had ever heard. The melody, at once simple and yet unfathomably complex, echoed down the eons to the dawn of time itself. A forgotten song from a lost people who had never been, sung now for the first time beneath an alien sky.

Only...

The song swirled around her and she knew it.  _Recognized_ it.

A fragmented memory surfaced from the haze of her past; she was once again the child she had been. Alone. In the dark... Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn't breathe. She didn't  _want_  to breathe. Because it hurt. Breathing  _hurt_. And moving. And thinking _._ _Everything_ hurt. Everywhere. All the time. Pain. And she needed it to stop. She couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't bear the pain. Only it wouldn't. It never did. Because she knew... knew from years of experience she couldn't remember or else she really would be insane... That they'd be back. In an hour or a day or a year or...

And then there'd be more. There would always be more. And they would never ever let her  _stop._

But then  _he_  was there, and she wasn't alone. Gathering her to him in the dark, his tears mingled with her own as he held her through the long, long nights. His voice – that song – gentle and beautiful with the promise of things she couldn't even begin to fathom filling her ears. And though even then she had known, somehow, that he could never take her with him, at least for those few precious hours she wasn't alone.

Her child whimpered, responding to her thoughts. Pulling her back into the Now that was all that ever mattered. The Doctor bent his head to the boy, whispering reassurances, and though she couldn't hear the words, she felt them again as clearly as if they had been said to her. Because they'd always been said to her. Even when she couldn't hear them.

 _Especially_  when she couldn't hear them.

Her heart rate and breathing slowly returned to normal as the Doctor began to sing again. She closed her eyes, letting his voice wash over her. Through her. Singing her to sleep once more.


	2. Hello, Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Stormcage wasn't the only cage he knew he could find Amy and Rory's daughter in. And he did promise to care for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Christmas in October. 'Cause I'm cool that way. Also, the carols I've already got on my playlist put me in the mood.

"I understand the general concept of 'shop early, avoid the rush'," the Doctor observed, eyeing the numerous bags he was holding suspiciously, "and why Christmas shopping in October makes sense. But, really, dear, October of  _2000_?"

"Turn-of-the-century clothes are all the rage right now," River replied absently, fingering the blouse hanging before her. She pulled it off the rack and held it up to herself for him to see. "What do you think?"

What he was starting to think was that very few of the items they were purchasing had a chance of ever ending up under a Christmas tree in Leadworth in 2014. However, he hadn't lived a millennium by actually saying stupid things like that.

Well, actually he had. Only he didn't want to spoil her mood. He was enjoying it too much.

So instead he shrugged. Taking that as a 'no', she hung it back up and continued to sort through the racks. As she looked, he asked, indicating the bags in his hands, "Where on earth do you plan on keeping all this, anyway?"

"Not on Earth. My cupboard."

He looked down at the shopping bags again. And thought about everything else he'd seen her wear over the years. And that didn't even include things like ice skates or... Ice skates. "Just how big is this cupboard?" he asked after a minute.

"As big as I need it to be," she answered, still rummaging.

He pictured her cell back at Stormcage. And the tiny cupboard inside. And... "No. River. Tell me you didn't."

"I could..." she replied airily. Then, finally turning and giving him her full attention, she smiled, "But I did have help, sweetie." He had a terrible feeling she wasn't talking about him. Child of the TARDIS indeed. Spoiled rotten child was more like it. Some of this must have shown on his face, because she continued, "Oh... don't look like that, dear. You wouldn't want me to show up for a date half-dressed, now, would you?"

Which really wasn't fair at all.

He never got a chance to find out how he would have responded once his brain started working properly again because, with a sudden squeal of delight, River rushed across the aisle to a nearby rack. Pulling off the leather jacket hanging on it and holding it up for him to see, she explained, "Oh my god! Do you know what this is?"

He assumed 'jacket' was the wrong answer.

Fortunately, she didn't wait for one. "Do you have any idea how much I wanted one of these?"

She paused, clearly expecting an answer. "A lot?" he ventured to guess.

"You have  _no_  idea," she answered, examining the jacket in her hand. "When I was...  _younger_... in Leadworth, there was one in the charity shop downtown. Even second-hand, it was still far too expensive." She cast him a sidelong glance. "And before you ask, I wanted to wear it, not hide it in my cupboard, so no. I couldn't just take it." She chuckled. "Amy would have made me take it back."

"You could buy it now?" he suggested gently, unable to share her amusement. For River, her childhood, where she remembered it at all, was nothing more than a gently fading memory, past pains soothed by present comfort. For him, it was still as fresh as yesterday.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, her head cocked to one side. Thinking. Then a smile spread slowly across her face. "Know what the really funny thing is?" she asked.

"What?"

"I did get one after all. It was under the tree Christmas morning, from 'Santa'. No one would ever admit to it, but I've always suspected the Ponds. Amy's parents knew I'd wanted it, and they seemed to really like me for some reason. Can't imagine why," she added, a quick mischievous grin cutting across her features. Then, her expression softening, she continued, "But now I'm thinking maybe I was wrong."

"Wrong?" he asked, even as he was trying to figure out how quickly he could get back after they'd left to make the purchase and which year she was talking about.

"2007," she said.

"What?"

She laughed, only this time, it wasn't amusement lighting her eyes. "You'll need to know that, right?"

"Why?"

"Hello, Santa," she said, by way of explanation. And then, with a smile bright enough to cast out the darkest of shadows – and he would know – she stepped forward into his embrace.

Even as his arms closed around her, though, that part of him still thinking clearly couldn't help but wonder...

Would she ever remember the rest?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She was cold, though she knew the room was kept warm enough. But that didn't matter; she was always cold anyway. She also hurt, but not too badly today. Just a dull ache which she'd probably completely forget about in a few hours. So a good day, really.

Unless, of course,  _they_  came.

She couldn't remember who they were, of course. She never could. Then again, she was lucky if she remembered what she'd eaten the night before. Searching her memory she realized she couldn't, actually. Not that it mattered. She wasn't hungry at the moment, and that was the important thing.

So.

A good day, then.

Unless... But she wasn't going to think about that.

She opened her eyes. And promptly shut them again. And then reopened them.

No.

Still there.

Why, exactly, was there a tree in her room? And what was with all the lights?

"It's Christmas. Don't you know?"

She turned to find a man standing next to the tree. He was dressed a little like the doctor who took care of her, Doctor... she couldn't remember. R- something. Only this man was younger. And needed a hair cut. And she was pretty sure pants weren't supposed to fit like that.

He also shouldn't have been there in her room. She told him so.

"Probably not," he agreed. "Couldn't help it, though, really."

"Why?"

"Because it's Christmas. Didn't I just explain that?"

"But what's  _Christmas_?" she asked.

For the briefest of moments, the man looked angry. Very angry. And, for the first time since noticing him standing there, she was scared. Which, now that she thought about it, was pretty strange because she'd always been at least a little frightened before.

As if sensing her fear, the man's expression shifted again. Smiling now, he crossed the room and sat down next to her on the bed. "Please don't be afraid," he said, taking both her hands in his. His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear, and yet something in the tone, and in the way he held her hands, made her feel... Not scared.  _Really_ not scared. "It's not your fault," he explained.

"What's not my fault?"

Something on his face froze at her question, only this time, he didn't get angry. In fact, he didn't even seem to be looking at her at all when he finally answered, "Nothing. I mean... everything." He fell silent again for a long minute before continuing, his voice almost a whisper, "Oh, Melody."

"What?"

He looked at her sharply, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there and had only just remembered. She knew how that felt. Then his face broke into the most amazing smile she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen that many. But his was the first that didn't make her want to run and hide. If there'd ever been anywhere to hide.

She smiled back. Or tried to. Though she must have done a pretty good job, 'cause his smile grew still wider. "Melody Pond?" he asked after a minute, his voice strong and sure once more.

"What?" she repeated.

"Wanna know what Christmas is?"

She nodded.

He jumped up off the bed and held his hand out to her. "Come on," he ordered. She slipped off the bed and gave him her hand and let him pull her over to the lit tree. Pointing at the brightly colored boxes beneath it, he explained, "Christmas."

"They're  _boxes_ ," she corrected him.

"No," he said, and the lights from the tree scattered like starlight in his eyes as he laughed. "They're not. They're  _presents_. Christmas presents."

"What are presents?" she asked.

This time, she was sure she imagined the shadow that passed behind his eyes because his smile never wavered as he answered, "And that, little one, is exactly why I'm here."

A short time later – a very short time, considering the number of boxes, but she'd made quick work of it once she'd figured out just exactly what presents were – she was sitting on the floor surrounded by what he'd called 'toys'. All of which seemed very nice and interesting and not painful or scary at all. Looking around at them, though, a thought suddenly struck her which  _was_  scary. "Do you think they'll let me keep them?" she asked.

She couldn't have told him who 'they' were, but he didn't ask. Instead, he said, "You know, I think they will. No idea  _why_... But, yeah. I think they will."

"Good." She looked around again. "I think I'm going to like having toys."

He laughed. "Yeah, I think you will. But now... I have to go. I've already been here too long."

He stood up and she scrambled to her feet after him. "Can you take me with you?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice she was afraid again.

"Oh... little one... I would if I could. Believe me."

She did.

"And you're going to have to keep being very brave. At least for awhile. Can you do that?"

She nodded. Then, because she couldn't help asking, "But you'll be back?"

"Oh, yes. I'll be back."

"When?"

"When I can."

"And will you bring me presents?"

He laughed again.  _Really_  laughed. "Oh, yes, Melody. I'll always bring you presents."

She didn't think the question was that funny, but she had just one more question left. The one she'd been wanting to ask since she'd first seen him there in her room. And because she really wanted him to answer it, she wasn't about to risk asking why bringing her presents was funny. "Who are you?" she asked instead.

His face broke into a grin, and suddenly, even though he was leaving, she didn't feel quite so scared anymore. "It's Christmas. Haven't you figured it out?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't really know what Christmas is," she reminded him.

This time, that didn't seem to upset him. Instead, still smiling, he leaned down, and whispered into her ear.

She forgot his visit, of course. The next day her room was full of toys, and she wasn't quite.. not  _quite._.. as scared as she'd been before. But she had no idea why.

It wasn't until years later, finally free of that room in that Home, that she'd seen a man dressed all in red with a long white beard in a shop at Christmas talking to children. And she  _never_  knew why, upon doing so, her first thought should be, "But that's not Santa!"


	3. Mother's Day

He sat down, letting his feet dangle out next to hers. "So, what do you think?" he asked, looking at her rather than at the view spread before them.

The stars reflected in her eyes like a thousand diamonds; their light set her face aglow. She smiled in wonder. "It's beautiful!"

He smiled himself, but not at the galaxy spread before them. "Yeah, it is."

"What is it?" she asked, still not turning her face away.

He chuckled. "Everything."

"What's it for?"

He stopped laughing. "Does it have to be for anything?" he asked.

She finally turned to look at him. "Everything's for something," she replied.

The look on her face – the bitter knowledge in eyes suddenly far too old for one so young – threatened to break his hearts. "Oh... Melody. That's not true, you know."

"Yes it is." The hollow hopelessness in her tone nearly undid him. And, under the circumstances, he was having trouble finding a counter argument himself.

But he was no stranger to trouble, and he'd never let it beat him before. After a moment he stood up and headed to the console. "Don't fall out," he called over his shoulder to her. "I'll be right back."

"Fall out?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"How could I fall out?"

"I don't know," he said, working controls as he talked. "Your mother managed it somehow, though."

"What's that?" she asked.

"What's what?" he replied before grabbing what he'd wanted from the console printer with a mumbled, "Thanks, dear," and heading back to the door.

"What's a mother?" she clarified.

Sitting back down, he passed her the photo in his hand. "Not a what. A  _who_." He pointed to the picture. " _She's_  a mother. Yours, specifically."

Melody studied the picture intently. "What's she for?" she asked after a minute.

He smiled tightly. "See, that's rather the point. She's not actually  _for_  anything."

She looked back up at him, disbelief clear across her features. "Then what does she do if she's not for anything?"

"Wait, mostly."

"For what?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "All kinds of things, actually. But right now, especially, for you."

"Me?"

He couldn't help but feel amused – at least a little – by the strange mixture of hope and disbelief at war across her face. "Yes, for you, little one," he said, poking her nose by way of emphasis. "Remember, I promised you won't always have to go back to that room, right?"

She grinned in response, a momentary flash of sunshine through the clouds, and then, serious once more, asked, "But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does she wait?"

"Because she loves you."

She stared back at the picture, eyes narrowed in concentrated thought. "But what's  _love_?" she finally asked after a minute.

"Ah... Well... That, little Melody, I'm afraid you're just going to have to figure out for yourself."

She looked back up at him, sudden worry shifting across her features. "What if I don't?" she asked.

And this time, his laughter was completely genuine as he answered, "Oh, sweetie. I wouldn't worry. Somehow... I'm absolutely certain that you will."


	4. Snow Days

She stood next to him, small gloved hand inside his bare one, shivering slightly against the cold. "What's happening?" she asked.

He laughed. "That, Melody dearest, is snow."

She tilted her neck back to get a better view of the sky. "What's snow?" she asked, letting the large wet flakes fall freely across her face, her eyes wide with wonder beneath her knit blue cap.

"Crystallized ice. But that's not important right now. We're not here for a science lecture."

"Why are we, then?"

"For this..." And, still laughing, he threw himself onto the ground and proceeded to make a snow angel.

"Are you mad?" she asked.

He laughed still harder. "Yes! But come on, it's fun." She looked a bit dubious, to say the least. "Honest."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She tentatively lay down in the thick snow, the plastic and down of her snow pants crinkling as she moved. He sat up next to her, watching. "Like this?" she asked, fanning her arms and legs out.

"Yes. Exactly. Perfect."

"Am I finished?" she asked after a minute.

"If you want to be." She nodded. He stood up and held out a hand to help her scramble to her feet next to him. "So, what do you think?" he asked, pointing to the angels they'd made in the snow.

"What are they for?"

"For?"

"Yes."

"They're not for anything." He sighed, and continued, mumbling under his breath, "Why does everything always have to be  _for_  something?"

"Because everything  _is,_ " she slowly explained, as if answering a child.

He sighed again, trying desperately to hide the pain caused by her words. "No... Oh, Melody. It's not supposed to be that way, sweetie. Some things just  _are_. Because they're nice. Or pretty. Or fun. Like snow angels.  _Fun_."

She cocked her head to one side, examining their angels carefully. After a minute, she concluded, "I don't get it."

He hit her on the shoulder with a snowball; he hadn't been idle while she'd been looking at the angels.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded, turning on him.

" _Fun_."

"Fun?" she repeated in disbelief.

He laughed. "You try it." Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of snow and proceeded to show her how to make a snowball.

Handing it to her, he leaned down to make another for himself... And was hit squarely in the face by her snowball as he straightened back up.

"Hey...!" he began, but as he wiped the snow off his face to clear his vision, he found her standing in front of him, giggling in delight. His protest faded; his laughter joined hers. "See? Fun."

Half-an-hour later, covered from head to toe in snow, they finally decided to call a truce. "So, what happens next?" Melody asked.

He leaned down so his face was even with hers. "This is the best part, Melody. I mean, the absolute  _best_ part."

"What?" Her cheeks were bright red with the cold, her eyes shining with excitement as she looked at him.

"Have you ever had hot chocolate?"

She shook her head. "No. Is it any good?"

He laughed; his hearts soared. "Oh, Melody. Trust me. You're going to  _love_  it."

And he was right, of course. She did.


	5. Pastels and Tinfoil Stars

She examined each framed picture on the bureau, her eyes roaming along with her fingers, tracing each line and angle of the little girl's face. Trying desperately to remember that meadow...that day at the seaside...whatever had prompted that smile... To force her mind back to those early nearly forgotten years, to roll back the fog which covered and obscured her earliest childhood memories. To remember what it had been like... what it had felt like... to be that little girl.

Each photo was so tantalizingly familiar, tugging at her mind and her memory. Cloudy images she could almost see... if only her mind would focus. If only they would stay still long enough for her to look at them. Feelings and impressions she could almost feel... almost remember... almost reach out and...

Almost.

But not quite.

"I knew you'd come back here. As soon as you could."

River spun around at the sound of his voice, so unexpected in that place at that time. "I couldn't stay away. You shouldn't be here, though," she pointed out. She'd known as soon as she'd found him standing there that he was her Doctor, of course. There was no one else he could be.

He smiled without apology. "Me? I'm fine. They're gone now, anyway. From here. Safest place in the Universe for me, at the moment. Probably."

She glanced around the room again. It was all so achingly familiar. So much a part of who she was. What she was. She couldn't ever remember having been here before in her life. And yet, at the same time...

She recognized it all.

The bed in the corner, a warm blanket tucked neatly around its small mattress. A rug covering the floor, protection against the cold wood planks; a child's collection of toys spread invitingly across it. The mobile hanging before the room's high window, its tinfoil solar system so reminiscent of the Doctor's own first stars. A universe for a child who could never have looked out the room's one high window.

Though she knew, without even needing to think about how she knew, that it was possible to get high enough by climbing onto the sink and then stretching to reach the ledge below the window...

She looked back at the Doctor, turning away from the many comforts and kindnesses which contrasted so sharply with the cruel efficiency of the warehouse lab. The proof that someone had seen the child who'd lived there as something so much more than simply a weapon. "The Silence never did this. Any of it."

"No. They wouldn't have, would they?" He thrust his hands deep into his pant's pockets before continuing, sounding almost guilty, like a small boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I didn't think you'd miss that. Seeing it all again, now."

"But you never told me. All this time... You could have, you know. Yet you never did. Why?"

He smiled, a sadly apologetic smile. "How could I? I mean...I knew where you were, River. I was here. I could have stopped them at any time. Saved you. And you were..." He inhaled a ragged breath; his eyes glistened as he looked at her. "I could have saved you and I didn't."

She wanted to hold him. To comfort him. To remind him that, of the two of them, he was the only one who could remember her pain. And only because he'd chosen to share it.

But she knew he knew all of that already.

She almost –almost – asked him why, when he'd known there was nothing he could do and that she'd barely remember any of it anyway, he'd bothered to come at all. Only, even as she'd opened her mouth to speak, she'd known the answer. Because she would have come herself, if their roles had been reversed. There would have been nothing else she could have done.

And besides...

Maybe.

Just maybe...

Because there were those memories. Fragments, really. Impressions, mostly.

But... still...

They were there.

"But you did, my love." She'd intentionally emphasized the last two words. His gaze sharpened as he looked at her; he'd noticed. She forced herself to chuckle. "You didn't think it was ever just Amy's stories, did you?" When he simply stood there looking baffled, she continued, "That made me dream of marrying you...? When I was a little girl?"

"You were serious?"

She didn't have to try to laugh this time; the dear man was so completely shocked. "Sweetie, why else do you think I wanted to kill you and kiss you? Don't get me wrong, you do cut a rather nice figure in an evening suit, and the whole not-dying dying-slowly saving-everybody-anyway business was fairly impressive, but... really? Do you honestly think I'd have given up a promising career as a psychopath and several lifetimes of regenerations so easily if I hadn't been at least a little in love with you already?"

"But..." he began, but closed his mouth again quickly. She simply watched and waited; she could see him thinking. "I'm very clever," he observed after a minute, grinning crookedly at her.

She laughed. "Yes, you are. Sometimes even when you're not trying to be."

He rocked back on his heels. "Yes... well... Sometimes," he admitted, chuckling as he came back down flat on his feet.

"But, you know," she added, growing serious again. "Sometimes, it's not about being clever."

"It's not?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She refused to take the bait. "No. It's not. Sometimes," she continued, reaching up and slowly adjusting his bow tie before smiling back up at him. Willing him to believe. "Sometimes, my love, it's all about you just being you."


End file.
